I spent today revising a novel I'd first-draft finished writing six months ago—moving through and identifying missing scenes, making notes about raw transitions, straightening the map of an imaginary landscape, imagining back stories, supposing forward.

I had expected to be unnerved by the work, frustrated with myself. I discovered peace instead, the power of homecoming. I remembered just how important it continues to be to learn from what isn't working yet, to force yourself to do better.

I've sketched out five scenes now, new scenes, to write. I did not allow myself to begin. It's important, I think, to be tantalized by the possibilities before you set right in.